


Everything we need and more

by iriswallpaper



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Feel-good, Feels, Foster Care, John Watson is a Saint, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2793482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswallpaper/pseuds/iriswallpaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John stops at the grocery after work. He meets a young couple coping with their first foster children. John's heart is warmed and he wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything we need and more

John was in a foul mood as he headed out of the clinic. It had been an endless parade of stomach flu, kids coughing on him, middle aged diabetics who refused to eat sensibly, and other assorted exhausting patients. He had the makings of a pounding headache starting, his leg hurt, his back ached and he was hungry. He was glad to finally head home in the gloaming.

He decided to walk. It took longer, but walking cleared his head and calmed his nerves. He also planned to stop at the grocery. Even though Sherlock was without a case, John knew he’d never be bored enough to pick up groceries or start dinner. John sighed. It was a small price to pay, taking care of the shopping, for the life he shared with his Consulting Detective.

John grabbed a basket as he entered the supermarket; he planned to just grab a few things. He winced at the florescent lights – those didn’t help his headache. And just his luck, the shop was crowded. He pulled out his mobile to text Sherlock that he’d be later than he’d planned.

John shuffled through the crowded aisles to the dairy case. Along with milk, he decided to treat himself to a block of good cheese tonight. A glass of red wine, some fruit and good cheese would go a long way toward ending his headache.

His way was blocked by a group of young children, noses pressed to the glass of the cheese case. Three were Latino – a boy about 8, a boy about 6 and a girl that appeared to be a small 5. The other three were mixed race – a girl and two boys, about the same age as the Latino children. All were scrubbed clean but dressed in a shabby assortment of mismatched clothing. John sighed again, trying to wait patiently and not get irritated at their shrill voices.

“Look” the oldest Latino boy shouted, “that’s the cheese we had when we lived with the people in the gray house. Remember how good it was?” He turned to his brother, eyes shining with excitement.

The smaller boy answered enthusiastically, “Let’s ask the lady to get it. I want to try it again!”

“No,” the older boy replied sadly, “didn’t you see the size of their house? They can’t afford expensive cheese.”

The mixed race girl piped in, “I’ve never tasted anything like that. Did you stay in a fancy house?”

The older Latino boy answered sadly, “Yeah, it was great. They had lots of good food and the house was really nice. But they didn’t want to keep us. We were only there a few months.” His voice sounded much too resigned for a boy of his age.

The oldest mixed race girl answered, “Yeah, us too. No one wants to keep us more than a few months so we’ve moved around a lot. I really like these people. Maybe they’ll keep us and we can stay in the same school all year,” she said brightly.

 

A harried looking man, just over 30 and dressed in rumpled cotton shirt and trousers, rushed up to the children. “Children, you’re blocking this man’s path. Please, step back and let him pass.” He motioned to the children to move aside.

“It's fine,” John answered. He found his eyes misting over. He had to fight not to sniff. “Take your time.”

John turned to the man and asked softly, “Foster care?”

“Yes” the younger man answered, “Our first. They came to us yesterday. It was a surprise. There was a mix up at the agency and two families got assigned to us. We were only expecting three children, but both families showed up at the same time. The social workers were going to take one family back to emergency care – but how could we chose? How could we let three children spend more time in a shelter while we take care of others? How could we tell three babies we didn’t want them? ” His voice rose at the end.

“We can’t have children of our own,” the young man continued, “But my wife has always wanted a big family, so we signed up to foster. We told the agency we were interested in potential permanent placements. My wife would be devastated to love and care for a child, then have it taken away. And we wanted siblings, not just one child.” From the look on the man’s face, John suspected that the man would be devastated to love a child then have it taken away, too.

“So we went from being childless to having six children in a day!” he said dazedly. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. I don’t know how we can ever afford to raise six children.”

John struggled to contain the warble in his voice, “You’re doing a fine thing” he said warmly. “These children need stability, not lots of expensive things. Read to them, play with them, make sure they do well in school. Don’t worry about expensive clothes or that nonsense. What they all need are parents who care for them and make them feel safe.” John placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed, “I had a pretty rough time of it myself growing up. If you give them a loving home, you’ve given them more than my parents ever gave to my sister and me. And we turned out okay.” John removed his hand and sniffed. He reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He opened it, removing all the bills except what he’d need to cover his sparse basket.

He pressed the bills into the man’s hand. “Here, let the children pick out a few treats. The children were just talking about a special cheese they had at a different house. Please, get them the cheese. And some sweets. Maybe a football so they can play outside.”

John fished out his business card with the clinic phone number. He quickly scribbled his mobile number on the back. “I’d like you to stay in touch. Can you give me a call and let me know how it’s working out for the children?” he said as he handed it to the new foster father.

Just then a beautiful young woman walked up pushing a loaded cart. Her dark brown hair shined under the buzzing overhead lights, as did the dark circles under her tired blue eyes. “Come, children,” she said mildly, “Let’s not block the way.”

Her husband glanced at John’s card and said, “Hillary, this is Doctor Watson. He… he wants to give the children some treats."

“Please, let the children pick out a few things,: John said as he took the hand she extended into both of his. “I'd like to think of them in a safe house full of good food.”

p>The young woman looked stunned and stammered, “Thank you for your kindness, Doctor Watson. I don’t know how we could ever repay you.”

“Never…never think of repaying me,” John said softly, “You are doing me a kindness by letting me help.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, smiled brightly into her face, then turned and headed to the check outline. He quickly scanned his few items, inserted the bills, bagged his items and left.

He thought about the new family on his way home. He realized he didn’t even ask the man’s name, or their last name. He hoped fervently that they would indeed call him to let him know how the children settled in.

John realized his headache was gone. The pain and weariness had left his body. Those beautiful children had completely cleared the clouds from his mood. He let himself in, nearly running up the stairs, he was so eager to be home. 

Sherlock was standing at the window. He’d seen John enter and turned expectantly toward him. “John, do you have any cash?” Sherlock asked. He knew that John usually carried quite a bit of cash with him. “I didn’t make it to the bank today and I’m out.”

John set his one shopping bag on the tiny clear spot on kitchen table. He stood beside the table, looking at the bag as he answered, “Sorry, Sherlock. I spent my cash at the grocery. I’m cleaned out, too.”

Sherlock eyed the single bag suspiciously. “What in the world do you have there that cleaned you out?”

John crossed the room to his partner. He wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him close. Sherlock’s arms instinctively encircled John with a warm embrace. John buried his face in the crook of Sherlock’s neck, nuzzling softly.

“Everything we need and more."


End file.
